


takdir.

by silameninggal



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Obi-Wan Kenobi, Break Up, CC-2224 | Cody is a Good Bro, CT-7567 | Rex is a Good Bro, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mutual Pining, NaNoWriMo 2020, Past Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Past Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Post-Break Up, Relationship Reveal, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Top Anakin Skywalker, slightly ambiguous ending, suicidal impulses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27797824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silameninggal/pseuds/silameninggal
Summary: They sprawl, loose-limbed, on the floor of a stolen ship, cruising through Hyperspace lanes back to Coruscant. Their boots are caked in mud, smearing the chrome floor with smudges of brown. Obi-Wan swears that he can taste it, at the back of his throat, gritty and bitter.Anakin smiles, lopsided but genuine, and afterwards, after it all, Obi-Wan will think that this is the moment— the moment that it all began.Obi-Wan and Anakin in love, before their relationship is revealed to a galaxy at war. There are consequences.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 53
Kudos: 141





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [my love laid bare for all to see](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24324604) by [Ripki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ripki/pseuds/Ripki). 



> Content Warning in the tags. AU where Anakin never marries Padmé, and Palpatine just fades out of the whole thing. Anakin is also 24 in this verse so he makes less sketchy decisions. Ahsoka is trained by a different master. ok that's the au. enjoy.

****

**_Takdir_ **

_[taq.dir]_

_Noun:_

_1.fate, appointed lot_

_2.power that foreordains_

_3.force which determines course of events_

_4.destiny_


	2. Awaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _awaken  
>  /əˈweɪk(ə)n/  
> Verb:  
> rouse (a feeling)._

It begins like this.

They sprawl, loose-limbed, on the floor of a stolen ship, cruising through Hyperspace lanes back to Coruscant. Their boots are caked in mud, smearing the chrome floor with smudges of brown. Obi-Wan swears that he can taste it, at the back of his throat, gritty and bitter.

Beside him, Anakin laughs, still high on leftover adrenaline from the battle, unhinged. He rakes dirty fingers through his hair, just long enough to brush the shell of his ears, knuckles bruised purple and black.

“You should probably stop that,” Obi-Wan says, nudging him. “You’ll just get dirt in your hair, and Force knows that there are probably womp-rats living in that nest of yours already.”

Anakin shrugs, and shoves him over. Obi-Wan's armoured shoulders hit the floor with a clunk, and he stretches, letting his limbs fall to the floor. He reaches out, pulls on Anakin’s dirt-stained tunic until he topples over, face next to his own. They stare, breaths mingling, lips barely inches away from each other’s.

Anakin is the first to giggle.

It occurs, belatedly, to Obi-Wan, as he laughs, deep-bellied and loud and true, that now, Anakin is no longer The Student and he no longer The Master. Now, they simply are equals, two sides of the same half.

Anakin writhes, wheezing, eyes scrunched at the corners in mirth. Obi-Wan watches, drawn to blue eyes, tan skin, long fingers braced on the floor, striking against the chrome and brown. He lets himself float in this moment, to _live in this moment_ , another one of Qui-Gon's anecdotes, ever repeated, so long ago.

He lets the feeling– _this_ feeling flow through him, warmth and lightness, bursting against the walls of his ribcage, starlight in his eyes. Embraces it, for the moment, as it fills his heart, so full, it feels like it’s about to burst, bubbling out of his chest. He would not mind if it were to burst, right now, in this moment.

The last time he had felt like this, had been with Qui-

He doesn’t think of it.

Anakin slumps, finally. The last of battle-madness evaporated from his veins, echoes of laughter left drifting in the Force. He pushes off the floor, leans against the wall, and closes his eyes. Obi-Wan watches, as he slowly gathers what’s left in the aftermath of battle, mind marred by exhaustion, fatigue; a life hard-lived, a childhood too-short. The Force rings, answering Anakin’s call as he draws himself back in, centres himself for whatever comes next, whether it be the Council’s call or another firefight.

“Do you think we’ll get in trouble for the stunt we just pulled?” Anakin asks, half-smiling. He rubs at his temple, brushes blonde curls away from his forehead.

In the low light, Obi-Wan can see the grim set to his mouth, the weariness that darkens his eyes. The War has dragged on for what feels like lifetimes, but yet it has only been months since Anakin was knighted.

“Probably.”

“And we’ll just let them complain about it, huh.”

“Yes, and I’ll have to listen to them grouse about your recklessness for hours after,” Obi-Wan says, “You’re not the one attending the council sessions.”

“And it’s a good thing that I’m not,”

“Hmph. You’re a lucky bastard and you know it.”

Anakin smiles, lopsided but genuine, and afterwards, after it all, Obi-Wan will think that this is the moment— the moment that it all began.

“Well, _Master_ Obi-Wan, that council seat comes with responsibilities, does it not? “ Anakin says, teasing.

“I do not need you to remind me of the council's endless bickering—” Obi-Wan says, gazing at the shadows Anakin’s eyelashes cast under the dim lights. Had they ever been this long? Had he never noticed them? When had Anakin become more than just a boy; now a warrior in his own right?

“—you’re enough of a problem already.”

“Really? And I thought that my fresh and innovative solutions were one of the sole sources of entertainment in your dull life.” Anakin crows, nudging Obi-Wan’s thigh with a mud-covered boot.

“Entertainment? More like the reason why I’m going grey!” Obi-Wan says, abruptly rising to knock Anakin to the floor in mock-outrage. Anakin lets himself be shoved onto the floor, landing with a dull thud. He huffs, unimpressed, and flips them both over, pressing Obi-Wan into the hard floor.

Anakin ruffles his hair, mussing it up even more than it already is. “I don’t see any grey here, yet,” he says. He smoothes it back down, looming over Obi-Wan. Anakin’s broad shoulders pin him down, and he’s frozen, immobile, held there under Anakin’s careless gaze. He looks into eyes swimming with intent, pulse racing, feeling both flushed-hot and ice-cold.

Then, the moment passes, and Anakin eases off him, sitting crouched on the chromium floor. Obi-Wan wipes at his face with the sleeve of his tunic, deeply unsettled. He feels like he’s toeing the ledge of a cavern, at the edge of something vast and undefined, and about to fall in.

Shadows slink past as Anakin heads out of the cabin, to check the NavComputer, cast by the low light. Obi-Wan pushes himself up, on limbs that shake ever so slightly, and staggers into the attached passenger-cabin, and settles into meditation, or at least tries to.

He loses himself to the void, lets it soak into his bones, gives it what he offers, or tries to _. There is peace_ , he chants silently, again and again. _There is peace. There is no emotion._

There is no peace to be found, not even when he grasps for his centre, _or what is still left of it after Naboo_ , he thinks. He lets the cold of space envelop him, hoping that it drowns out the clamour of sticky, messy emotions that choke him.

_What should I do?_ he asks. _What should I do?_

_Qui-Gon, what should I do?_

The Force, murky and elusive, offers no answer.

* * *

The last rays of sun fade into twilight as Obi-Wan exits the council chambers. Unease sits heavy in the pit of his stomach, twining with throbbing _want_.

 _What_ is it that he wants for, he can’t quite figure out yet, right now.

He decides to leave it. After all, there are far more important things for him to worry about.

As the rest of the council members file out of the chamber, he turns and finds himself cornered by Master Yoda himself.

“Walk with me you will, Master Kenobi,“ he says, gimmer stick tap-tapping as he hobbles along the corridor. “Long time it has been since I have last spoken to you. Much time off-planet, you spend nowadays.”

Obi-Wan’s footsteps echo in the corridor, now empty save for him and Master Yoda. He twists his hands where they are clasped under his robes, and slows his steps so Master Yoda can better keep up with him. Slowly, they make their way past the landing, Master Yoda leading them both with his own unhurried pace, towards his intended destination. Obi-Wan follows, knowing better than to hasten the old master; his shins have suffered far more than enough.

“Sense that you are disturbed, I do,” Master Yoda says, “Unbalanced, you are,”

Obi-Wan grasps at the Force, desperately reigns in his fussy, bothersome, emotions. “I am doing perfectly fine, Master Yoda,” he says, pulling his hands out of his robes and clasping them behind his back instead. “It is simply the influence of the war, as how it affects us all.”

Master Yoda harrumphs and continues on his path, meandering towards one of the meditation gardens. Around them, initiates swarm out of classes, headed towards the commissary, while masters and knights stroll along the common hallway, deep in conversation. Master Yoda weaves a path through the crowd, inconspicuously, beckoning for Obi-Wan to follow.

“Much there is for you to reflect on, young Obi-Wan,” he says, “Much is there for you to realise.”

They push open heavy stained-glass doors, and Obi-Wan finds himself in one of the more austere gardens, barren at the end of Coruscant’s winter cycle. Master Yoda pauses, looking around the now-empty grounds, nodding. In the middle of the garden, a single cherry tree stands abloom, blossoms fluttering in the wind.

Master Yoda hobbles his way to the tree, gazing upon its gnarled branches with wizened eyes as pale-pink petals float to the ground. “Many changes taking place, there are,” he says, solemnly, feet tracing patterns amongst the scattered petals. “Clouded, the Force is. Uncertain, the future is.”

Obi-Wan watches as wind stirs the petals into a flurry, the grounds now awash with pink and white. In the midst of it all, Master Yoda stands, serene and undisturbed. They rise from the ground, each one twirling in a delicate dance.

The petals swirl, faster and faster, rushing past Obi-Wan’s outstretched fingers, stuck in his hair, robes. They scatter, suspended in the air, unmoving for a moment, then begin to swirl delicately around the nexus of it all–Master Yoda.

“A long time since peace you have found, young one.” Master Yoda says, raising a wrinkled claw. “Attachments, I sense you have. Let go of them, you have not.”

Realization dawns, as Obi-Wan lets his wide sleeves sway in the wind, arms raised to cup blossoms in his palms. Cherry blossoms were—had, been Qui-Gon’s favourite flowers. 

_They bloom a day and are gone the next, padawan. Impermanent, just as all things are._

“Master Jinn is now one with the Force,” Obi-Wan says, thickly. “I am no longer attached to his memory.” He does not think of clandestine kisses in moonlit gardens, the quiet rush of blood in his veins. The thrust of a lightsaber that had ended them, the silent, secret grief that had followed.

He doesn’t.

Master Yoda raises a single brow, gently letting the petals fall to the ground, one by one. “Look inside, young one. Much you do feel. Much you do not see. Much you have to let go.”

Obi-Wan pulls at his robe, wrapping it tighter, the chill of night suddenly prominent. He brushes petals out of his hair and clothes, swathes of pink fluttering as they fall onto the ground. “I will do my best to seek balance, Master,” he says, folding his hands together. The hem of his outer robe swishes as shifts atop the petal-covered ground as he straightens himself, no longer able to stomach the sight of pale-pink blossoms glowing in the Coruscanti night.

“Luminous beings we are, Obi-Wan.” Master Yoda says, gravely. “Impermanent. Always changing. Release your doubts to the Force. Release your pains. Trust in it to hold what burdens you. Trust in it, always.”

_Trust in the Force, Obi-Wan._

Obi-Wan swallows around the lump in his throat, eyes stinging. The dull ache of sorrow swells under his sternum, a searing brand around his heart. “He is gone,” he says, quietly. “He was my Master. That is just how it is.”

Master Yoda hobbles forth, cherry-blossoms covering his head, robes. “Suffer, you do. Remember your path, you must. Let go, Obi-Wan.”

“I will, master.” Obi-Wan says and hastens. “Thank you.”

* * *

He all but flees to his quarters, determined to keep his composure until he’s safely absconded to his quarters. He dashes blindly through hallways, now quiet after the evening rush, keeping his head down and hands tightly clenched. Finally, he arrives, chest heaving, blindly groping for the lock, nearly falling through the threshold when the door opens. He staggers, coming to a stop before the window, falling to his knees.

Ambient light from passing transports cast shadows that stretch across the floor, and Obi-Wan shudders, outer robe pooled on the floor, forgotten in his turmoil, still trailing leftover petals that survived his mad dash.

_Look for the light, padawan. It is always with you. Trust in the Force._

Obi-Wan buries his face in his hands, feeling the floodgates burst open, tears streaming down his cheeks. He weeps, bent over as sobs wrack his frame, shaking with the force of it. He _misses_ him, and the pang of it hasn’t faded, even after so long. Grief had become a counterpoint to the pulse of life, and he had left it buried, to fester, an unhealed wound. There had been no respite; their love was a secret, tender thing, burnt to ashes, on the pyre.

No hope could grow from ash.

_I miss you so much, Master. Why do I still miss you?_

He remembers the warmth, now a distant, unfamiliar sensation; he is cold, always—solitary and weary after Anakin’s knighting. He’d tried to feel the stir of heat under his skin, after; but every encounter left him hollow, emptier. A part of him had died with Qui-Gon, had withered in the cold, a never-ending winter.

He wants it all to stop.

Obi-Wan keens, rage, sorrow and shame, hands tearing at his skin, a raw, animal sound. He screams, muffled in his robes, clawing at the unyielding agony, the torment of being left behind. The ache is bone-deep, and he is tired of it, tired of the dreams and the memories and every single reminder—

Everything formerly on the surfaces of his room drops to the floor with a thud. A few vases break, broken shards littering the floor. He didn’t mean to do that, he realises, releasing his white-knuckled hold on the Force, summoning the housekeeping droid sitting idle in the corner. It putters around, straightening his quarters, askew after his temper-tantrum, whirring on it’s rollers.

Obi-Wan watches it deftly rearrange trinkets on shelves, datapads on desks. The normalcy is oddly calming–tranquility in the eye of a storm.

Eventually, the grief, the pain, subsides; a momentary relief. He gathers the scattered pieces of his self and attempts to mould them back them together, methodically compartmentalizing the constellation of hurts that scar his being.

Obi-Wan rises from the floor, wincing as his knees creak. At thirty-five, he is far too old to be kneeling on hard floors.

Damn the War.

Afterwards, nestled safely in the sheets, he drifts between sleep and nothingness, worn-out and sore.

The door to his room silently slides open, and gentle hands pull the covers over his sleeping form.

“That must be have been quite the council session, you’ve passed out already.”

They smooth the covers down, and Obi-Wan snuggles into the warmth.

“Sleep well, Master.”

* * *

Before, it began like this.

_Focus, padawan. You have let your guard down._

The hum of a lightsaber. The snap-hiss as they clash, blue against green, sunlight dappled on the mats.

Before, it ended like this.

_Stand back, padawan!_

The snap-hiss of as they clash, red and green.

The smell of char, the scent of death. 

Obi-Wan trashes awake, gasping. The weight in his chest ever-present, tattered remains of a bond ripped apart still bleeding freely. He hears the sound of the holodisplay in the main room as it is activated, then cacophony as someone flicks through the channels. Groggily, he extricates himself from the bedding, slides out of bed, pads to the fresher' with bare feet.

He doesn’t look at his reflection in the mirror.

When he walks into the main room, Anakin’s there, boots propped up on the couch while watching a corny holodrama. 

“You’re awake,” he says, lowering the volume. “There’s tea on the counter. I don’t even know why you drink that stuff, but I made some.”

“I simply prefer it more than the black sludge you drink,” Obi-Wan says, pouring himself a cup.

“Caf is the superior drink,” Anakin huffs, switching off the holodisplay. “You’re just too prissy to enjoy it.”

“Ahh, caf, the greatest drink there is,” Obi-Wan says, slowly draining his cup. “I much prefer something that won’t murder me and my tastebuds.”

“Pfft. You drink leaf water.”

“Mhmm.”

“Your refined tastebuds just can't stand the sheer awesomeness of caf.”

Obi-Wan sets his empty cup down, glances at Anakin. “Unlike _certain_ individuals, I do not prefer stimulants first thing in the morning, no matter how mild they are. Aren't you supposed to be in the salles with Ahsoka?" 

“No, she’s got classes, and then detention, for some sort of prank she pulled last week,” Anakin says, momentarily distracted by the sound of a cheering crowd.

Obi-Wan sighs, placing his cup in the sink and overfilling it with water. "Also, get your boots off the couch.”

"Fine," Anakin grumbles, grudgingly lifting his boots off the couch. “Her master did say something about erupting soda bottles and stuff, but I forgot the specifics. Do you want to get breakfast at Dex’s? We haven’t been there since we were last on leave.”

“The both of you do nothing but get into trouble,” Obi-Wan says, rinsing soap off his hands and wringing them dry. “Let’s go then. I highly doubt the commissary has got anything edible this morning.”

* * *

Dex’s is busy when they get there, right in the middle of the morning rush. They manage to snag a corner table by the windows, giving them a fine view of the street below, flooded with commuters and transports.

“They must be really busy today,” Anakin says, brushing an errant curl behind his ear. Obi-Wan eyes it, following the movement, unwittingly attracted.

“They are. It’s most likely going to take some time before our orders arrive.”

“Hmm,” Anakin says, fiddling with his comm. “I guess I’ve got more time to spend with you then.”

Obi-Wan shifts in his seat, lazily regards Anakin as he taps away on his comm. “It’s not often we get time off.”

“Best make use of it then— ” Anakin replies, making a face, “ —to be with you, anyways.” He looks out of the window, momentarily distracted by the jostling masses. A minor commotion erupts as two transport drivers argue in the lanes below.

Obi-Wan stares, transfixed. Anakin’s jaw is stark in the light, skin tanned golden by the blazing sun during their last mission. He watches, as Anakin frowns, then returns to whatever he had been doing.

_When he did get so stunning?_

“There’s some news about the chancellor, corruption and money laundering charges? I saw it on the ‘Net,” Anakin says, still fiddling with his comm. “I haven’t seen anything else on it though they did mention that he had something to do with the slave trade on Halopst,”

“Well, it’s not particularly surprising that he’s been laudering senate money for yesrs. I don't see why he's not any different from the rest of the other politicians.”

“But I thought that he— nevermind. I guess Padmé was right anyways. He still summons me a whole lot though. What a _sleemo._ ”

“Ah, well, you’re still talking to Padmé?”

“No,” Anakin says, abashed. “We don’t talk much anymore.”

Obi-Wan raises a single eyebrow.

“It’s just— we just, I don’t know? She’s not in my league anyways, and she’s so busy all the time, and she said that it was best that we, uhhh, sithspit!”

“Anakin.”

Anakin lifts his head from where he’s staring at the table, cheeks reddened.

“You know it’s perfectly normal to have those feelings,”

Anakin startles, eyes comically wide. “You _knew? You knew?”_

“The both of weren’t anywhere near subtle. Even a bantha would’ve figured it out.”

"Oh, kark," Anakin says, burying his face in his hands.

Obi-Wan shifts, crossing his ankles. "It's fine, Anakin. You can tell me about it, if you want to."

Anakin lifts his face out of his hands, leaning on the seat. “Ugh. Okay. Yeah, but it still sucks— I mean, I’m over it but then,” he says, sighing. “I still kind of miss her. But not quite, y’know?”

“It fades with time,” Obi-Wan says, reassuringly. “It always does.”

Anakin narrows his eyes, face scrunched in scrutiny. _He’s adorable,_ Obi-Wan thinks, suddenly, then banishes the thought.

“Wait, how do you—who did you— is it the Duchess?“

Obi-Wan props his elbow on the table, rests his temple on knuckles .“Gods, Anakin, this has nothing to do with the Duchess—”

“You _scored the Duchess?_ ” Anakin says, excitedly. “So that’s why she was so pissy around you. I knew it! I’m definitely telling Snips. She owes me fifteen credits now.”

Obi-Wan groans, runs a hand through his beard. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love me for it.” Anakin says, eyes alight with glee. “You love me for my insufferable-ness.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “That’s not even an actual word, Anakin—”

“So, you _do_ love me? Aha!” Anakin says, cackling. Obi-Wan reaches over the table to smack him.

“Brat. You’re so sure about that?”

“I sure am, old man. You love me to the moons of Tatooine and back. ”

"That's rich."

"Uh huh, and I'm right about it too."

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, exasperated. "We'll see about that when you're mooning after that holodrama star– what'shisname? Asekkh?"

"I do not–"

Their food arrives, and Anakin digs in with all the might of a ravenous beast once Obi-Wan sends off the droid attendant. Though, Obi-Wan stares at his plate, appetite gone, deep in thought.

_Do I love him?_


	3. Ascend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ascend_  
>  /əˈsɛnd/  
> rise or move up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for: major character injury

There is the swelling of tides, when it is not quite at its fullest; rather, it is when the currents surge forth, before the waves reach the highest of crests.

He fights the pull, fearing that he will be swept away, only to sink, drown.

_Padawan!_

The ocean becomes pitch-black, bottomless, swallowing him whole. There is no rising to the surface, his feet bound to the depths. To sever the tie is to live.

It still hurts. Sometimes, he wonders why he still tries. To fight it. To live. 

But there is Anakin.

Anakin, who sweeps him off his feet. Anakin is the current, and he is nothing to the sheer force of it. Anakin who is blindingly bright and beautiful, radiant in the Force.

He is blinded.

_What is love, Master?_

_Love is what binds us all, Obi-Wan. Love is everything in the universe. Love is—_

The world tilts to the side, all upside-down and right-side-up, and he can’t decide how he’d rather it be.

_“You love me to the moon and back.”_

He does.

The world is rose-tinted, a golden hue, and Anakin is there with him, every second, relentless in his pursuit. Fingers brush against his in the mess hall, a hand rests on the small of his back during briefings, an arm is wrapped around his shoulders as they march through bombed-out ruins. Anakin is a solid, unshakeable presence, holding him up when his own legs fail to.

Obi-Wan is perched on a rocky outcropping, stars spinning in the night sky above. The Seperatists have retreated to whichever hill they’re cowering behind, and the 212st should be able to take their forward defences down by the next week. Clones pass in and out of camp, bustling with ammunition and supplies; but he’s left alone on his own little patch of rock, the clones seeming to have intuitively understood that he needed the space.

The galaxy’s careening right under his fingertips, and he’s powerless to stop it. The dreams have been getting far too real, bloody and brutal and terrifying—he spends far longer screaming himself awake than being asleep. _Some Jedi Master I must be,_ he thinks, for he is nothing but attachments. There is no sense to it, between the inescapable pang of loss, the inevitable end, and the dizziness of this new _thing_ between him and Anakin.

He can’t let go of either, he realises. He can’t. Anakin’s bright and beautiful and the only thing keeping him alive, right now. He doesn’t know what he would do if he were to lose him. Yet, he cannot lose the memory of Qui-Gon, the last shreds of their love.

He shifts, crosses his legs. He should meditate, keep himself centred and balanced and still as how he should be, a Jedi Master in his own right; but the spark that grows between the both of them grows ever brighter in the Force, and he doesn’t want to be the one to smother it.

He likes the feel of it far too much.

Anakin plops down beside him, sans saber’ and belt. He stretches, like a loth-cat, all feline smugness, and yawns, long legs sprawled on the ground.

“Isn’t it your watch right now?” Obi-Wan asks, startled out of his thoughts. The night breeze picks up and stirs the strands of Anakin’s curls around; he resists the urge to tuck them behind Anakin’s ears.

“Nope, just finished up,” he says, popping the ‘p’. He leans over, closing the gap between them, leaning his head on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Beneath them, the plains are pitch-black, silent. No sign of the enemy tonight, at least.

“I’ve missed this, you know,” Anakin says, gazing into the distance. “Just the both of us.”

Obi-Wan wraps an arm around Anakin’s broad shoulders. “Me too.”

He lets Anakin snuggle into the embrace, uncrossing his legs. The troopers have finished setting up, the bustle now died down, only the occasional chirps of the native night-dwelling birds interrupting the silence.

Anakin nudges him. “What’s going on?”

“What?”

“What’s going on with you? You know.”

Obi-Wan sighs, leaning his own head against Anakin’s. “I assure you that I don’t.”

“You’ve been waking up screaming almost every night, Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, voice carefully level. “Cody’s getting worried. He says that you’re getting far too little sleep, and you’re not eating enough.”

“I’m fine, Anakin.” Obi-Wan says. “They’re just dreams.” He doesn’t say that he dreams of death, of Anakin dying, of Qui-Gon’s death, over and over again. They might just undo him, one day. But he doesn’t say it.

“They aren’t _just dreams_ ,” Anakin says, huffing. “What’s got you so worried?”

“Nothing,” Obi-Wan says, and closes his eyes. He’s tired, but sleep isn’t an option. He can’t take another night of holding Qui-Gon in his arms as he slips into the Force.

“It isn’t nothing, Master,” Anakin says, sitting up and letting Obi-Wan lean against him. “It’s affecting you. The troopers are getting worried.”

“You don’t have to call me _that_ , Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, “It won’t affect the mission tomorrow. I am alright.”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Master.”

“Fine.” Obi-Wan huffs. This is where he will ruin it all, he thinks. Where Anakin will push him away, after he sees the messy ruins of his insides, the black-slick sludge that creeps into the edges of the world in its rose-hued glory.

“It’s okay,” Anakin says. “You can tell me.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, burying it in the soft fabric of Anakin’s robes. “I can’t.”

Anakin reaches up, ruffles his hair, soothingly runs his hand down Obi-Wan’s back. “It’s okay, even if you don’t want to. I’m always here.”

“I can’t, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, the words half-choked by the sobs that threaten to spill out of his throat. “Not anymore, I see him, every night—”

“Shh,” Anakin says, “I’m here, Master, I’ll always be here,”

“You too, I can’t lose you, Anakin,”

“Come on, up now, Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, helping Obi-Wan to his feet. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Anakin, I —”

“We’re going to be okay, Obi-Wan. One day.” Anakin says, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan in a hug. “We’re going to be okay.”

In the tight embrace of Anakin’s arms, Obi-Wan lets himself believe that they are.

* * *

They are not okay.

A week later, their forces are overwhelmed, and they are soon under siege. They hunker down in trenches and bunkers, wearily pushing through enemy territory. The 501st have been separated from the 212th, and Obi-Wan worries for Anakin and his troops, endlessly, every waking second torment.

Obi-Wan slices through the droid patrol, lightsaber cutting swift, precise arcs through their durasteel limbs. The air reeked of ozone and charred metal, thick with the scent of leaking motor-oil. He cringes as a sharp spike of pain lances through the bond, which was then quickly muted. They had been close to breaking the blockade for weeks, only to be pushed back by sudden and unforeseen circumstances. He was well aware that the troopers were getting frustrated, and that he too was tiring out. They had to advance through, and fast.

“How much further before we reach their coordinates?” Obi-Wan shouts. He could see the next droid patrol slowly advancing towards them. 

“About a kilometre, sir!” Commander Cody shouted back, firing at the oncoming battalion of droids.

“I’ll lead the charge. Commander, advance units five and seven. The rest of you secure the area. Let’s finish this, once and for all.”

“Sir, yes sir!“ Cody said, saluting smartly. He began to bark orders into his comm, as Obi-Wan swirled his lightsaber around him in a wide arc, taking a brief moment to re-center himself before he launched himself back into battle.

He heard the hum of engines as he began to run forward, lightsaber at the ready, prepared to attack. The clones began their advance behind him, as he deflected blaster shots with efficient, precise, moves. He could hear their cries as they began to fire on the droids, relishing the flow of adrenaline that coursed through his veins. The slow-moving droids were no match for him and his saber’ as he cut through them, as easily as though he was slicing through flimsi.

“General!” Cody said, when they had reached a lull in battle. “There’s a comm for you. Kix from the 501st.”

“Patch him through.” Obi-Wan said, deflecting a stray blaster shot. The area had been cleared, the remains of droids in heaps on the ground. The men rushed forward, securing the area. He deactivated his lightsaber and switched on his comm, wiping his brow with a sleeve. He cringed when it came away stained with soot.

“General Kenobi,” Kix started. “There’s a situation. It’s our general.”

Obi-Wan winced as another spike of pain shot down the bond. “Tell me about the situation. Immediately.”

“He’s… injured, and badly, sir,” Kix said, worry creasing his features. “Got caught in an explosion. Could have been a booby-trap.”

“We’re on our way to your position, trooper,” Obi-Wan said. Apprehension trickled down his spine, solidified into cold, hard steel. “He’ll be able to hold on.”

“He’s going to need a medical transport, sir. We won’t be able to fully address his injuries here.”

“We’re coming as soon as we can. Keep him stable. General Kenobi out.”

“Kix out.”

Obi-Wan flipped his comm shut and gestured for Cody to come closer. “We need to end this. How much further to the 501st ?”

“Five hundred meters left, sir!”

Obi-Wan reignited his lightsaber, determination at odds with the roiling anxiety in his gut. He exhaled, hard, and drew the Force close to his core.

“Let’s go!” he yelled, gesturing for the men to follow. They whooped, raising their blasters once more. _It’s now or never_ , Obi-Wan thought, charging forward, lightsaber swinging in graceful, deadly movements. He fought his way through the droids, near-feral with desperation, using the Force to fortify his movements. Anakin needed him, and they were running out of time. Occasional spikes of pain still lanced through their bond, enough so that Obi-Wan had a clear idea of how much pain Anakin truly was in.

He gritted his teeth and spun his blade, cutting down the rest of the droids in a flurry of rapid melee combat. Their durasteel bodies crunched as he called upon the Force and crushed a good amount of them in frustration, sensing the presence of the 501st , so close yet so far.

The presence of droids grew scarcer by the second, until there were no more, only parts of them left in oil-stained heaps. Finding himself without a target, Obi-Wan looked up to see that they had broken through the blockade, as the Force around him swelled with the elation and joy of his men.

“This way, General!” Rex said, materializing beside him. He led him to the camp, moving around troopers as they whooped and cheered. “They’re in the med center.”

Rex led him through the camp, winding around various tents and crates filled with equipment, finally coming to a stop before one marked with a red sigil. Kix stood outside, looking harried and frazzled.

“He’s inside,” Kix said, holding open the flaps and gesturing to the inside. “He’s in a bad shape, General. He’ll have to be transported back to Coruscant for treatment. Even the nearest Med Station doesn’t have the equipment needed for his full recovery.”

Obi-Wan stepped inside, freezing in shock seeing Anakin strapped to a gurney, attached to tubes and machines. His right leg is a mangled mess, and a deep cut runs through his right eye.

“We took off his prosthetic,” Kix explains, “It was fried, and the neuroreceptors attached were just causing him more pain.”

Anakin gurgles, drugged to the gills but still in a considerable amount of pain. Obi-Wan lightly places a palm over his forehead, blocking his eyes from the bright lights in the tent. “Go to sleep, dear one. You’ll be alright,” he says, lacing it with a strong Force-Suggestion. Anakin’s eyes slide shut as he falls asleep, and Obi-Wan’s heart wrenches as he takes in the pale pallor to his skin, the flush of shock and blood-loss that etches his features.

“His right side was the closest to the blast. I’m pretty sure that he’s got a concussion and some internal bleeding as well.” Kix says, “We had to strap him down because he was trashing around so hard that the droids couldn’t work on him. We’re lucky that it was a sonic blast and he doesn’t have any burns, but he needs surgery that we aren’t equipped to carry out.”

“I’ll get him to the temple immediately,” Obi-Wan says. “Where’s the nearest ship?”

“Nearest is at base camp. We’ll get it prepped and running.” Kix says, switching on his comm and giving orders to the medics milling about the tent. “It’ll be here in five and we’ll transport onto it.”

“I’ll have to comm the council in the meantime,” Obi-Wan says, “Comm me if anything happens.”

“Yes, sir!”

Obi-Wan steps out of the tent, nearlyb sick with worry. It’s as though he’s living one of his nightmares, Anakin lying cold and pale on a gurney, machines barely keeping him alive. He swallows and pushes his feelings aside, shoving them into the void, hauling back control. Outside, Rex stands with Cody, conversing in clipped, hushed tones.

“Cody,” he says, perhaps a bit too sharply, as the both of them snap to attention. “Wrap everything up and keep the Seperatists at bay. I’ll have to return to the temple urgently and reinforcements will arrive soon, I hope.”

“Noted, sir. Is the General alright?”

“Not at all. But he’ll be fine, once he’s been put back together.”

They’re interrupted as a small transport vessel lands in the clearing behind the med tent, medics starting the tedious process of transporting Anakin onto the ship.

“There’s my transport. May the Force be with you, Commander,” Obi-Wan says, giving Cody a sloppy salute before jogging towards the ship.

“And with you too, sir!”

* * *

The council, as expected, grouches and grumbles before agreeing to send in another squad of troopers. The planet— HR4552, though not a member of the Republic, is far too valuable to be lost to the Seperatists, and so the Senate has decreed that they must continue the fighting until they have won. It’s a terrible waste of lives and resources, in Obi-Wan’s opinion, but what the Senate wants, the Senate gets, no matter what, or _who_ ends up as collateral damage.

Anakin lies on a bed made up in sterile-white sheets in the intensive wing of the Healer’s wards, still heavily medicated. Obi-Wan spends his days by Anakin’s bedside, soothing him through the moments when he’s less lucid and letting him snipe when he’s wide awake. The healers have managed to reconstruct most of his right leg, replacing what could not be saved with synthetic muscle. The cut on his face will scar, even after bacta—They had arrived on Coruscant far too late, and it had already half-healed by the time he was rolled into surgery.

“Obi-Wannnn,” Anakin slurs, reaching for Obi-Wan. “Didchu know how much I love you? You’re pretty, so pretty, you know,”

“Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, exasperatedly. “Lie back down. Vokara will have my neck if you manage to tear your stiches out _again.”_

“Didn’t do it on purpose,” Anakin whines. “Wanted to touch. I’ve missed you forever.”

“I’ve only been gone for an hour, Anakin.”

“Noooo,” Anakin says, moaning. “Missed you every second on that kriffed-up planet. I wanted to touch you, so bad, Master. I missed you.” He shifts on the bed, groans.

“ _Lie down,_ Anakin.” Obi-Wan says, gently pushing him back onto the bed. “Stop moving. You’re pulling your stitches.”

Anakin drops his head onto the pillow, huffs in complaint. “Don’t wanna go to bed, Obi-Wan. Only wanna go to bed with you. And I know that you wanna, too, missed you so much,”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, though his heart twinges in his chest. “Come on, Anakin. Let the meds work. Stop fidgeting so much.” He reaches over, adjusts the pillows so Anakin’s more comfortable.

Anakin shifts, squirming under the covers. “Ugh, want to fuck you into the mattress when I have my leg back,” He says, flailing his flesh arm around.

“Anakin!”

“What?” he says, and starts to giggle.

“You’re floating higher than the moons on Bespin, Anakin. You don’t mean any of it.”

“Yes I do!” Anakin says, scandalized. “Always wanted to f—”

Obi-Wan throws the sheets over him, earning an offended squawk. “That’s enough, sweetie. Bedtime.”

“Mmph! Nooo.”

Obi-Wan uncovers Anakin’s head, tucking the rest of him under the blankets. “Relax. You’re tiring yourself out. Give it some time.”

“M’not tired.” Anakin says, yawning.

“Yes you are.”

“No,”

“Yes you _are._ You’re yawning.”

“You win, then,” Anakin says, sleepily. “Mmm. I like the blanket. It’s warm. Like you.”

“There, there.” Obi-Wan says, patting his chest. “Go on, it’s safe, dear one. Close your eyes.”

Anakin shifts once more, burrowing into the covers. “Okay, hmm. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Obi-Wan says, sitting back onto the chair he had been occupying. Anakin’s features slowly grow lax as he falls asleep, a calm that he had never quite achieved awake. Obi-Wan watches the shadows cast by the jut of his cheekbones slowly pass, until the chrono shows that it’s long past 11th hour.

He stands, ready to leave, knowing better than to let Vokara bodily shove him out of the door. But he can’t resist the impulse to run his fingers over the soft skin on Anakin’s cheek once more, to place a kiss on his temple.

“I do know how much you love me, “ he says, though he knows Anakin’s too far gone to hear. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I love you, too.”


	4. Ablaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ablaze_  
>  /əˈbleɪz/  
> filled with strong emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: explicit sexual intercourse

They dance around each other, swift and prowling, binary stars making endless orbits around each other. Have been, for weeks on end, after that Force-damned mission, Anakin grounded to the temple for rehab and Obi-Wan miraculously reassigned to Coruscant. The easy equilibrium between them no longer exists, replaced instead by longer, firmer caresses, stolen moments in dark hallways, the slow burn of a candleflame. Obi-Wan _wants,_ and this time, he _knows,_ deep in his bones, _exactly_ what.

Anakin’s full of teasing quips and little gestures, leaving him waiting, wanting for more. Yet, he struggles to find his footing in this new _thing_ of theirs, waiting for Anakin to make the first move, he hopes. _It had never been like this with Qui_ —, _no,_ Obi-Wan thinks. Maybe Qui-Gon would forgive him for this. For being with another. But Anakin’s iridescent, magnetic, drawing him closer and closer, and he’s already crashing into the surface. There is no turning back, now that’s he’s caught in the pull, but that’s fine, perhaps.

Sweat drips off his temples, lands on the mats, as he raises his saber to block Anakin’s strike, twisting his blade so Anakin’s slides off. The growing spark between them steadily grows into a pulsing current, crackling at every jab, parry. At this hour, the salle is empty, their only witnesses the ghosts and what is between them.

“Not fair,” Anakin says, “You’re supposed to go easy on me.”

Obi-Wan waves his saber’ in a wide, high arc, smooth and sensuous. “You were the one who had suggested a challenge. Unless you aren’t up to it?” he says, taunting. He watches, as Anakin’s indignant pout shifts to the intense gaze of a predator, fixated on his prey.

“You said it, old man.” He says, shrugging the last of his tunics off. “Gods, it’s hot in here. Let’s spar hand-to-hand instead. An even better challenge, right, _Master_?”

Obi-Wan watches as beads of sweat slide down Anakin’s clavicle, glinting as they catch the light. He deactivates his lightsaber and strips out of his tunics, tossing them on the ground, well out of the way.

“Well, it won’t be a challenge without a prize. What do you propose, my young opponent?”

Anakin wraps strips of cloth around his knuckles, smirks. “I say the winner gets a kiss. How’s that?”

Obi-Wan stretches, anticipation curling through his gut. “That sounds like a deal.” He holds his palm open for Anakin to pass him strips of cloth bandages and athletic tape, carefully wrapping his joints. He’d spent a week with a broken finger as a Padawan, and with Qui-Gon’s fretting— he’d been careful about it, ever since.

He holds off for a bit longer, taking care to check that there are no interfering younglings in the vicinity— they had an affinity with following Anakin around, and he wanted none of them to end up splattered on the salle’s walls.

Anakin cracks his knuckles, rolls his shoulders like a loth-cat, settles into position, cracking a grin.

_Come hither, Obi-Wan._

Obi-Wan shifts into position, bracing his feet against the mat. He holds his hands to the front, the typical opening stance of the advanced open-handed kata.

They circle each other, bare feet padding on the mats, feigning false strikes. Obi-Wan raises a brow, an invitation. He feels electrified, the sole focus of Anakin’s intense gaze, body set alight. He toes forward, in waiting.

Anakin is the first to strike.

Quick as a snake, Obi-Wan blocks his strike with an arm. From there, it’s a cascade of moves, flesh against flesh, one after another. He deflects glancing blows, powerful and aggressive, knocking his own against Anakin’s chiselled muscles. They spar, lightheaded with the sweet draw of adrenaline, a dance in tandem, moving in syncopation, infinitely familiar with each other’s rhythm. The dance grows harder and faster, their eyes glowing with the Force, movements wild and passionate. Anakin’s presence draws him in, a whirlpool, and he surrenders, moves to its flow, ducking below high kicks and catching Anakin’s strikes before they can score a hit.

Obi-Wan bends back, dodging one of Anakin’s kicks, grabs an ankle and flips him over, sending Anakin sprawling over. Lightning-quick, Anakin lunges for Obi-Wan, bringing them both onto the mats in a heap of tangled limbs. He laughs, loud and ringing, pulling away and sitting with his elbows braced on his knees.

Obi-Wan pushes himself off the mat, rewrapping his knuckles, adding extra padding on top of the bone. He can’t help but stare, Anakin’s eyes ablaze, his hair golden in the light, luminescent and irresistible, the scar running down his eye giving him a new, roughish air.

“Like what you see?” Anakin says, a lazy drawl. He sits back, bracing his weight on his arms, long legs spread in a vee.

Obi-Wan runs a hand through sweat-soaked bangs, flipping them out of his eyes. Anakin’s eyes darken, as he crouches between Anakin’s spread legs and flicks his nose. He lets the thrill of satisfaction puff in his chest, wanting more, so he leans forward, narrows his eyes.

“Maybe I do.”

He rises, beckons to the mat. “We still don’t have a winner yet, do we?”

Anakin holds out a hand, letting Obi-Wan haul him to his feet. “One more rematch then. I’ll kick your scrawny ass to the next planet over.”

“You’re welcome to _try_.”

They take their positions on the mat again, ready to prance. The air is heady with the currents of the Force, bursting with anticipation, nearly sizzling at Obi-Wan’s fingertips. He cocks a finger, a taunting gesture, watches as Anakin’s brow furrow. _Now!_ He thinks, and they both leap into action, dealing blows with both their fists and the Force, dirty and brutal and overwhelming. Anakin grins, feral, and Obi-Wan knows that he matches Anakin’s grin with equal ferocity, teeth bared, unhinged.

Obi-Wan deflects a blow, is momentarily distracted by the curve of Anakin’s shoulder, then suddenly finds himself being wrestled to the ground by Anakin, whooping in celebration. Strong hands pin his wrists to the mat, as Anakin straddles his waist, crowing in victory.

“Who’s the victor now, Master?”

Obi-Wan huffs, twisting in Anakin’s hold, testing his strength. He’s well aware of the heat pooling in his groin, the feel of Anakin’s hands—one calloused, the other cold metal—against the sensitive insides of his wrists ecstasy.

“I think we all know very well, Anakin.”

Anakin releases his hands, rocks back onto his hackles. “Mmm. Can I get my kiss now?”

Obi-Wan knows that he shouldn’t, that he should stop this, before it grows into an all-consuming blaze. Yet, he pushes up on his elbows, licks his lips, and fixes Anakin with a heated glare. _Two can play at a game,_ he thinks, and kisses him, a peck on the lips.

Anakin’s mouth gapes wide open, shocked. Obi-Wan scoffs, pushes him off and flips him over, this time pinning him to the mat with the weight of his body. “Who’s winning now?” he says, bangs falling over his eyes.

“Solah, solah,” Anakin gasps, the tips of his ears pink. “I’ll let you win this time, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan eases off, ignores the throbbing in his groin. “You can give me my kiss later, in a more _private_ setting.”

Anakin sputters, starstruck, while Obi-Wan gathers the robes laying on the floor.

“Come on, Anakin. You’ve got a prize to claim now, haven’t you?”

“Just let me— hey!” Anakin says, putting on his robes. “Wait up!”

“Catch you later,” Obi-Wan says, and winks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Anakin says, dramatically collapsing to the ground, hand held over his chest. “The death of me.”

* * *

Obi-Wan lets Anakin slam him against the wall, sucking a bruise into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Fire burns in his loins, coursing through his veins, as he lets Anakin slip a leg between his thighs, grindinh against his knee.

“Kriff,” Obi-Wan says, “Do you really want to do this, we can stop if you—”

Anakin growls, hooks his arms under Obi-Wan’s thighs and _lifts._ Obi-Wan tips his head back, lets Anakin mouth along the line of his neck, incredibly turned on by Anakin’s show of strength.

“Are you kidding me,” Anakin says, “I’ve wanted this forever. Let me.”

Obi-Wan sighs, lets Anakin heft him onto the bed, strong arms cradling him to his chest. Obi-Wan relishes the feel of it, the sensation heady, intoxicating. Together, they strip of their robes, letting them fall to the floor, limbs entwined.

“It’s been a long time since—” Obi-Wan says, “—I might not—”

“That’s okay.” Anakin says, nibbling on the shell of his ear. “We’ll go slow.”

Obi-Wan hisses as Anakin runs his hands across the plains of his chest, thumbing his nipples, crashing their lips together in a kiss. He traces the Anakin’s plush lips with his tongue, nibbling, seeking entrance. Anakin moans into the kiss, cupping the back of his neck, pressing the bulge of his cock against Obi-Wan’s thigh, the slick-smack sounds of their kisses growing louder as it grows into something more passionate, fiery, demanding.

Anakin breaks the kiss, sliding his palm down Obi-Wan’s abs, coming to rest purposefully low on his stomach. “May I?” he says, eyes burning with lust. Obi-Wan nods, lifting his hips to let Anakin slide off his underwear, already overwhelmed with the pulse of sheer _want_ in the Force. It felt so good, just like how it had been that first time with—

 _No,_ he thinks, it would be unfair of him to be thinking of him when Anakin was here, lighting up all those places so long untouched.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan gasps, desperate, as Anakin swirls his tongue around a nipple. “Anakin,”

“Yes?” Anakin says, looking up. Obi-Wan curls fingers in blonde curls, pulling down to rest against him, needing to _feel_ the press of their bodies together, so familiar yet so different, the weight of Anakin against his chest soothing but yet another reminder of someone long-lost.

“Need to feel, dammit, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, grasping Anakin’s shoulders. “Fuck— fuck me already.”

Anakin hums, bends to lick a stripe down Obi-Wan’s cock, full and heavy. “Patience, Obi-Wan.” he says, as Obi-Wan bucks beneath him.

Anakin suckles the head of his cock, hands pinning his hips in place, and Obi-Wan mewls, thighs flexing with effort to thrust up into the wet, hot heat of Anakin’s mouth. “Stars,” he says, voice rough. “I’m not going to last if you keep that up, it’s been too long.”

He whimpers, as Anakin eases off his cock, licking and biting the pale insides of his thighs. “Lube in the drawer,” he gasps, gripping the sheets. Anakin reaches out, and the tube floats into his hand, effortlessly. “That’s blatant misuse of the Force,” Obi-Wan says, shuddering as Anakin slides a hand down to knead the swell of his ass, circles lube-slick fingers around his hole. He keens, as Anakin presses cold, long fingers into the hole, slowly and deliberately, seeking out the spot that has him gasping with pleasure, toes curling.

“Mmm. Are you going to report me to the council for it?” Anakin says, smiling impishly. He thrusts his finger in, then out, and Obi-Wan groans.

“I don't think so, ah—"

The sudden pang in his chest doesn’t abate, even as Anakin slides two, then three fingers into him, scissoring and thrusting. He whines, little hitching noises, driving his hips to meet Anakin’s thrusts.

Anakin pushes his hips into the mattress with his free hand, slowly pulling his fingers out of Obi-Wan’s hole. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” he says, leaning over to press soft kisses to Obi-Wan’s cheeks.

Obi-Wan nods, nosing the length of Anakin’s neck. “I will. Please, I want it. Please.”

Anakin dips his head, kisses him, slow and languid, as he guides the head of his cock to Obi-Wan’s hole. Obi-Wan shivers, anticipating the stretch, the burn.

“Relax,” Anakin says, slowly pushing in. Obi-Wan throws his head against the pillows, gasping at the feel of a cock in him, dizzy with the buzz of Anakin’s mind against his.

He groans, at the sting of being breached, intense and electrifying. He loves it already, being filled with Anakin’s cock, and with it comes the guilt that pricks at the corners of his eyes, that seizes in his chest. He remembers, as Anakin slowly fucks into him, how Qui-Gon had done the same, filled him full to bursting, pinned him to mattresses and tables and the ground.

It feels like heresy—to be thinking of someone else, as Anakin gently rocks against him, murmurs soft words of love and encouragement in his ear; like blasphemy—their passion a direct violation of The Code;

it feels like betrayal to be loving another.

Anakin’s cock drags over the jut of his prostate, and he arches beneath his torso, hands twisting in the sheets. He lets Anakin wrap big hands against his hips, angling them just so, every thrust nearly undoing him, the sting of tears behind his closed eyelids.

Anakin reaches between them, circles the head of Obi-Wan cock with a thumb, and Obi-Wan wails, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. He turns his head, buries it in the pillow, hoping that Anakin won’t notice them. The rush of emotions nearly chokes him as Anakin begins to thrust, hard, exactly how he likes it, so different from the slow, gentle pace of Qui-Gon’s.

Obi-Wan’s heart swells, euphoria and longing, grief and ecstasy, both divine and encompassing. He can’t tell if the moisture on his face is sweat or tears, can’t tell where he starts and Anakin ends. The phantom touch-sense of memory remains, though it’s Anakin who’s touching him, not Qui-Gon, who is long dead and gone.

He misses him, even with Anakin here, and it’s so, so wrong, to replace one with another, and he isn’t, but it feels like he is, and he is guilty, so guilty.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, panting. “Fuck. I love you so much.” He thrusts, once, twice, and Obi-Wan is gone, reaching to the stars, sparks under his eyelids, coming against his stomach and Anakin’s, clenching down on Anakin’s cock. He’s dimly aware of Anakin grunting as he finishes, pulls out, collapses in a sprawl of limbs beside him. 

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says, but he’s not sure for who, not anymore. He’s sobbing, pathetic, as Anakin fusses over him, wiping him down with a washcloth, checking him over. But still, he can’t bring himself to tell Anakin why, even as he lays down, pulls him close. “I’m so sorry.”

Anakin cradles him in his arms, presses kisses to his temple, his jaw. “It’s okay. I should’ve—”

“No,” Obi-Wan says, hoarsely. “I wanted it; I just don’t know why—”

“It’s fine,” Anakin says, eyes half-lidded. “C’mon, sleep.”

Later, in the dark, with Anakin dead to the world, Obi-Wan presses a kiss to his chest, lets himself enjoy the feel of warm skin, soft against his cheek, just for the moment.

“I love you,” he whispers to the dark. “I love you.”

* * *

War is not a good time to relearn how to love.

Tied to the order, they are needed on the front. Obi-Wan has risked it all, for the Jedi, for the Republic, but now, he risks it all for Anakin.

To love so selfishly, it is anathema.

To love in silence, it is torture.

He finds that he doesn’t care. Oh Force, he doesn’t.

He dips his toes in the water, plunges in. Lets the waves wash him onto the shore, then does it again. Anakin’s presence is intoxicating, addictive. The bond that twines the very fabric of his soul together with Anakin’s stretches, grows, throbbing with the weight of the swirling, tempestuous cloud of desire in his gut.

They fight, back to back, a singular entity in two bodies. They are The Team, formidable, undefeated. One campaign after another, pushing through the grit and the blood and the death, they wrench planets from the brink of invasion, send the Seperatists scattering back into space. Anakin still brushes the knuckles of his glove-clad hands against his arm, still lets Obi-Wan lean on his shoulder. They trade kisses in the dark, unseen, stand apart during briefings. His fingers still itch to _touch,_ run over the nape of his collar, there in the council chambers. The thread between them winds tight, snaps at the sound of footsteps. That hasn’t changed.

But what has, is the slow glide of skin-against skin, in tents, bunkers, dingy ‘freshers. It only makes sense, after the first few weeks of frantically memorizing each other’s bodies, to grow bolder, slipping into half-concealed nooks and shadowy alleys, to press chaste kisses to each other’s cheeks in front of their troopers. They are loyal to a fault, after all, their men. 

Obi-Wan falls to his knees, back pressed the side of a transport shuttle, and swallows Anakin down, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that screams with how _wrong_ it is, how traitorous; he can feel the pulse of the vein on the underside of Anakin’s cock against his tongue, the curls of the Anakin’s hair against his nose. Above him, Anakin groans.

He wouldn’t give it up for anything. He can’t.

Anakin thrusts, hips snapping, fingers curled in Obi-Wan’s hair. Obi-Wan gazes at him, eyes glassy, watches the rise and fall of his chest as he heaves against the transport. He swallows around the length of Anakin’s cock, throat rippling. Anakin’s close, Obi-Wan can feel, his pleasure resonating in the Force.

When he does come, Obi-Wan lets it drip down his chin, staining his beard with white, pearly fluid. Anakin smiles at him, pupils blown wide, and pulls him up, licks his own come off his face. Deft fingers make quick work of his fastenings, and he lets Anakin wrap calloused fingers around his cock, roughly jerking him, until he comes with a hoarse cry, shuddering, staining Anakin’s tunics, his leggings.

They stay pressed together a while longer, after that, unwilling to part. But their duty is to the Jedi, the Republic; and so they part.

Later, with the buzz of death-narrowly-avoided quickening his pulse, he rushes forth, letting Anakin lift him by the waist, pressing their lips together in a passionate embrace, only their men to witness, cheering, hooting. _Kriff yeah,_ Anakin mumbles against his lips. _I love you. I love you so much.  
_

What they have should stay behind closed doors. He finds that he doesn’t really care. 


	5. Asunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _asunder_  
>  /əˈsʌndə/  
> apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this entire chapter listening to ddu ddu ddu live version on repeat so content warning for: angst. anyways. stan blackpink.

_“Good evening to the galaxy! I am your host, Lupai Saphire, bringing you the hottest topics of the hour. Today’s news— recent holos have surfaced of Republic General Anakin Skywalker and High General Obi-Wan Kenobi sharing what appears to be a very romantic encounter on the battlefield! What could this possibly mean for the Republic and the Jedi? Let us talk to our Coruscanti correspondent, Garyth Dain-Hyuth. Hi, Garyth!”_

_“The spotlight has been cast on the relationship of the republic’s dynamic duo — Skywalker and Kenobi, or The Team, as of tonight. As we have probably all seen, whether right here or on the Net’, a holo has surfaced of both Skywalker and Kenobi apparently embracing each other—rather passionately, I would say. Now, this is rather interesting, could this be the secret to their flawless partnership in the field?”_

_“We all know that the Jedi, order of mystic monks and warriors, forbids romantic relationships. Am I correct?”_

_“Yes, but as the both of them are needed for the war effort, how things play out will be interesting. All parties are still awaiting a statement from the Jedi temple, while internal reports suggest that the both of them have been pulled from the frontlines to attend disciplinary hearings. Although, in my honest opinion, things won’t be looking up for them for a good amount of time.”_

_“Right, Garyth, now stay tuned for more updates as the situation progresses. Up next, Corellain Actionholo star Gruzzix Eetro rumoured to be starring in the next season of Galactica: V. Stay tuned for more!”_

* * *

The meditation gardens attached to the council chambers are the perfect picture of Jedi tranquillity. Tall walls painted cream, weeping willows, neatly cropped grass, trickling water from an ornamental spout. It is one of the most coveted spots in the Temple, a courtesy for knights-in-waiting after a strenuous evaluation. A privilege well earned for most.

For him, tonight, it is a prison. Here, he will pay his penance.

Obi-Wan shifts, knees on grass, palms resting on thighs. Mind blank save for the reeling horror, disgust, dread. _Given time to center yourself, you are,_ Master Yoda had said, voice clipped and measured, the Force tightly drawn around him, a cloak of neutrality. _Before the council, appear you will in the morning._

He has never faced a council meeting with such dread. Not even in the days he spent as a maverick master’s padawan. The council is in session, debating, decides his fate and Anakin, as he kneels, waiting.

The galaxy teeters on its edge, resting upon the razer-sharp blade of a knife. On the verge of irreparable destruction, cracked-open in shards. Willow branches fall in beaded strings, swaying in the wind, offering him the illusion of a curtain to hide behind. Oh Force, does he wish to hide, to bury his head in the crook of Anakin’s shoulder, shelter through the storm. But he can’t. Anakin is still lightyears away, speeding towards Coruscant, and he too will be confined upon his arrival.

He can’t tell this is mercy, Force-granted, to be spared from facing Anakin, right now; or if it’s the cruellest of the council’s devices, to set them apart.

Anakin prods, insistently, through the bond. Obi-Wan slams it shut. He can’t bring himself to think about the both of them, not when he the galaxy is being ripped apart, the glued-together pieces falling to the ground, scattering at his feet. That morning, Anakin had asked, _What are we, Obi-Wan?_ They had laughed, over cups of caf, and the galaxy stopped its ceaseless turmoil and stood upright for just a second. _What is this?_

He hadn’t had an answer, then.

He has an answer now.

_This is us. This is love._

It threatens to spill out of him, right here in this Force-damned garden, and he wants to scream, rage, cry, anything. But he doesn’t, clenches his palms into fists instead. Begs the Force, anyone, anything—for guidance? For absolution? He doesn’t know. He wishes, to reach into his own traitorous heart, to crush the meaty, messy fibres that keep wanting and wanting and wanting more. He is unworthy, of his title, of Anakin and Qui-Gon, of the Force. Gods, he is beyond unworthy.

He is a failure.

Has failed, as a Jedi Master, no—as a Jedi. He is attached, to Qui-Gon, to Anakin–it is unequivocal, undeniable. These emotions—they burden him. There is no respite.

He has failed Qui-Gon, beloved Qui-Gon, for loving another. Failed his teachings, his memory.

He has failed Anakin, for the consequence they will both suffer is his biggest fault.

_Please,_ he begs, _what do I do? Guide me, Master, please, I cannot in good conscience let Anakin bear the brunt of my failures._

_I am so lost, Qui-Gon._

The Force, loud in it’s chaos, does not respond.

_Was this the burden you carried, when we loved in secret?_

It churns, unceasing, in constant upheaval. Goes on its way, he is merely another one of it’s agents.

The planet tilts on its axis, yet still continues to spin.

_Padawan dear, love is the Force._

Overhead, night falls over Coruscant, creeping over the horizon. The sky, perpetually illuminated by light pollution, is bright. Creeping vines on a trellis harbour tiny blossoms, swaying in the breeze. Willow branches cast shadows on the grass, keeping the garden in a false dusk. A mother tooka meanders through the garden, kittens following in a single file. He hears the brush of leaves, the drip of water. It is serene, peaceful.

Obi-Wan breathes, in, then out. Settles on the grass. There is no peace for him, not tonight; he doubts he will feel it for a long time. The bond throbs, foreign warmth under his shoulders, in his ribcage. It is bittersweet, knowing the answers to the questions that he had never stopped asking himself, but never saying them out loud. It is over, his chance to say them, will forever be.

He drowns, in darkness, water rising, filling his lungs. He thrashes, desperately, tries to float; the ocean is bottomless, a gaping maw. _Let go, Obi-Wan_ , a voice bubbles from the depths. _Let us go and be free, Obi-Wan. Be free._ He can’t, Obi-Wan thinks, desperately. Swim and live; sink and drown, he can’t choose between either, submerged in the freezing water. The ocean churns, heaves, and he is tossed onto the shore by waves, the taste of salt in his mouth, acid burning in his chest.

When he manages to right himself, push himself onto elbows, then knees, the garden is awash in blooms, a burst of colour. Pink and gold petals fall onto the grass, scattered by the breeze. It is then, that he weeps, a hollow, empty sound.

Obi-Wan waits, every second agony, to be called forth, dissected, ripped into. For them to be forced apart, torn from each other.

He waits.

* * *

They scarcely brush past each other in front of the chambers, Anakin’s mouth hardened into a thin, straight line.

Obi-Wan reaches for him, then stops, retreats. The moment of silence between them stretches, words left unsaid, hanging in the air.

“I—,” Obi-Wan starts, and shuts his mouth. Now is not the time, not in front of the doors. It is never the time. Will never be the time.

He watches as the shadows beneath Anakin’s eyes darken, knows that his own eyes rimmed in red. “Obi-Wan,” he says, defeated. Obi-Wan wants to cup his hands against his jaw, right the slump of his back in the dim light. Run his hands through blonde hair and press the tips of his fingers to plush lips, but now is not the time. “This is it, isn’t it?”

He swallows, mouth dry.

“Yes, I suppose.”

Obi-Wan’s coming apart at the seams, the silence oppressive in at this hour of morning. Their breath leaves clouds of vapour in the chill of dawn, fear coursing frigid in his blood. In the darkness, Anakin is pale as a corpse, robes disordered; but yet, he carries with him the quiet dignity of a warrior facing death.

Anakin twines their fingers together, tenderly presses a kiss to the back of his hand.

“If I had left, would you follow?” Anakin says, voice echoing off the tiles.

He would.

But he doesn’t dare say it, ashamed, afraid. Realizes too late that the silence has said it all, as he tilts his head, unwilling, unable to see the betrayal in Anakin’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” is the only thing he manages to choke out around the lump in his throat.

He is a coward.

Anakin exhales, shuddering, and Obi-Wan can feel his _hurt_ in the Force, the resignation that curves his shoulders forward. He can feel Anakin’s breath, coming in gasps, ghosting his cheeks. He closes his eyes, leans forward and presses his forehead against Anakin’s, wipes away the wet trails of tears that glaze Anakin’s cheeks. A last moment together, the universe reduced to two, the eye of the storm. 

“So am I.” Anakin says, quietly.

He unclasps their fingers, takes a careful step back. The Force between them pulses, overflows. They stand no more than a few feet apart, but the space between them is an ocean, the distance between them suddenly infinite, boundless. Obi-Wan is too far away to reach him, cannot fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, cannot tell him that he fears what the council will do to him, that he needs him so much closer. He cannot tell him _I love you; I love you I love you with every bit of my soul and my heart and I want to kiss you out there for all to see._ He cannot.

The distance only stretches in the silence, and they only grow further apart when the council doors open, and Obi-Wan is summoned, alone.

_I love you I love you I love you—_

* * *

Obi-Wan has never felt more afraid, ashamed to stand in front of the council.

He faces them alone.

Hysterically, he thinks that it is for the best, that Anakin is not here. That he won’t have to watch the council flay him open, scrounge out every last mistake. That he is not here to watch him fall apart. That he won’t have to see the disappointment in his face.

They regard him as a stranger. Judging him, weighing his worth, as if he had never been one of them. He supposes that he never was anyway, simply a padawan knighted too young; appointed to the council of necessity rather than merit. He was never worthy of being a master, he supposes. Perhaps now is when they will finally have realised.

His integrity lies in tatters, haphazardly strewn on the floor of the chamber. They ask him questions, poke and prod at his shields. _How could he?_ They ask. _How could he? Have brought shame to the order, broken the Code, deceived them all?_

He does not have any answers.

_How could he?_

Their questions grow invasive, malicious— pointed barbs with the intent to strike, honing into the cracks of his shields. _How long had it been going on? With his former padawan no less; what about the dynamic between them, the obviously skewed balance of power? Does the vast difference between their positions and ages mean nothing to him? Who was the instigator? What was your intent behind all this, Kenobi?_

Obi-Wan endures the barrage, silent. What they ask of him he already has asked himself thousands of times, and he stands, guilty, a penitent. The thing is, they are mostly right; and he is well aware of the fact that there is nothing for him to say in defence, so he does not.

He is mortified.

Angry, too, at himself. For letting this happen, for being _weak_ and stupidly, stupidly in love. For having reduced himself to a creature of carnal emotion and desire, for saying yes, even when he knew better.

The council, dissatisfied by his lack of reaction, bickers amongst themselves. The room is divided into sections, each discussion keyed low, but the displeased tone to them is evident. Obi-Wan watches, hollow, as they argue over their next question, next course of action. Master Windu, expressionless, glances at him, eyes hard and unforgiving, and he ducks his head, disgraced.

The council continues their row, hissing at each other in hushed voices, as Master and Grandmaster of the Order looked at each other inquiringly.

Obi-Wan had a bad feeling about this.

“Silence!” Grandmaster Yoda said, and the squabbling councillors quieted. He regarded Obi-Wan with the raise of a single clawed finger, beckoning him to step forth. “Your re-evaluation the council will perform. A decision we will make, following the evaluation. A mind-probe, we will perform.”

Master Windu steepled his fingers together and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Master Kenobi, we ask that you allow Grandmaster Yoda full access to your psyche. Master Fisto, I request for you to stand witness.“ He sat upright once more, drawing to his full height, formidable. “Do you consent, Master Kenobi?”

“Yes,” he croaked, dropping to his knees. Master Fisto nodded, rising from his seat, gently guiding Obi-Wan to lean forward, so Grandmaster Yoda could rest a clawed finger in the middle of his forehead. Master Fisto stood over the both of them, watching.

“Loosen your shields for me, Master Kenobi,” he commanded, closing his eyes. Obi-Wan inhaled, shuddered, as he felt Master Yoda begin to probe his mind, the touch of his Force-Signature against Obi-Wan’s searing-hot. He held his breath as Master Yoda began to poke through his inner shields, the touch blazing agony, peeling back the layers of his shields one by one.

His breathing grew laboured and shallow as the pain intensified, and sweat began to pool at the nape of his neck. “Hmmph,” Master Yoda said, humming to himself, ears unfolded in concentration. Memories flashed across Obi-Wan’s eyes, one after another, burning white-hot at the core of his mind. He recoiled, leaning away from Master Yoda’s touch, stilling when he tutted and Kit’s hands steadied him.

An undeterminable amount of time later, Master Yoda finally withdrew his presence, leaving Obi-Wan half-sprawled on the floor, dizzy and fatigued. “Finished, the evaluation has," he said, tapping his gimmer-stick against the ground. Master Fisto helped Obi-Wan to his feet, then slipped back into his seat.

Master Yoda narrowed his eyes, regarding him severely. “Lovers you were, with Master Jinn.”

Obi-Wan’s vision tilted to the side, and he nearly toppled over. He steadied himself, trembling. “Yes,” he gasped. A murmur of surprise passed through the council before it was dissipated, the hushed whispers growing louder.

Master Yoda silenced the gossiping council with a wave of his hand, settling back into his seat. “Much there is for us to consider, Master Kebobi,” he said, voice sombre. “Much there is, indeed.” He turned to Master Windu and nodded, something unspoken passing between them.

“The council gathers,” Master Windu said. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, you are dismissed for now.” He gestured, alerting the padawan aides outside of the chamber. “You are confined to your quarters until we have a decision. Until then,” he said, clasping both of his hands together, then continued, “you and Skywalker are not to engage in any contact with each other in any way whatsoever.” He leaned forward once more, intimidating. “There will be repercussions if you disregard the council’s orders.”

Master Windu nodded to the padawans, as the council doors opened and they ushered forward. “Please escort Master Kenobi to his quarters. Take care that he doesn’t tire himself out on the way there. Do not speak a word about what you have witnessed to anybody save for those who are on the council.” He stood, then bowed to Obi-Wan, who tried his best to reciprocate the gesture. “May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi.” 

He could hardly spare a glance at the rest of the councillors as the padawans steered him back to his quarters, as quickly as they dared. After exchanging their bows, they left him alone, though he was sure that at least one of them had been assigned to stand guard outside his door.

He sighed, and closed his eyes. It was going to be another long wait.

* * *

“The council has reached a decision.” Master Windu said. There was a tired air to him, and it showed in the way his fingers twitched almost imperceptibly as he spoke.

Obi-Wan fixed his gaze on the ground, hid his fidgeting hands in his robes. Whatever decision they had reached, he was sure that it was not very pleasant.

The Master of the Order leaned back in his chair, drawing his shields up so tightly that even Obi-Wan could feel the tension in his teeth. “Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he started, “The council has decided that you will no longer be a member.”

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw. Well, at least that was to be expected.

“The council has also decided that the current partnership between you and Knight Skywalker will be dissolved,” Master Windu said, voice deliberately level.

Obi-Wan fiddled with the sleeves of his robes. That, too, had been an outcome he had expected, although it still stung to have it said aloud.

Master Windu folded his hands together neatly in his lap. His shields wavered for a moment and faint hints of sorrow tainted the Force around him. He inhaled sharply and the Force righted itself again. “Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said, eyes filled with weariness. “The council has voted to revoke your designation as a Master. From this moment onwards, you are a Knight of the Order.”

It hit him like a punch to the gut, a blow to the face. A shock, though he’d expected it too—a realisation of his deepest fears, insecurities. The numbness of it makes his limbs unwieldy, mind blank against the rising feeling of despair.

“General Kenobi, the 212th will be reassigned to Cradu, effective immediately. You and your unit are to leave in nine standard hours. Understood?”

Obi-Wan seizes his scattered thoughts and strangles them into silence, one by one. He faces the council, face carefully blank, and bows, deep and full. “Understood, Masters,” he says, and walks out of the chambers as calmly as he can, each step carefully measured.

“Obi-Wan,” Master Windu calls, “May the Force be with you.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t look back.


	6. Adrift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _adrift  
>  /əˈdrɪft/  
> without purpose, direction, or guidance_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for: angst, implied alcoholism

Obi-Wan strides through the docks, already in his plastoid armour, lightsaber clipped to his belt. Cody and his battalion are waiting, the ship prepped for travel. It is then when Anakin stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

Anakin’s grip tightens like a vice, fingers digging into the meat of Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Did the council really have the nerve to—”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, bone-tired. This is the exact conversation he’d been hoping to avoid. “The council’s decision is —”

“They did it just to make a show out of this,” Anakin says, gritting his teeth. Anger flashes across his features, a dormant beast. “It’s not fair that you had to bear the brunt of it.”

“What can we possibly do about it then?” Obi-Wan says, world-weary. He pulls away, Anakin’s lingering touch a brand on his shoulder.

Anakin snarls, the beast awakened. “You’re just going to accept this? All of it? The Code doesn’t forbid kriffing of all—”

 _It isn’t that,_ Obi-Wan wants to say, but he can’t _._ _It isn’t that._ He wants, more than nothing, to let the words pour from his throat, one last time. “The council’s decision is final,” Obi-Wan says, instead, eyes flickering with barely-supressed emotion. He wants to press his body to Anakin’s, wrap his arms around his shoulders, tell him _I love you and that’s why—,_ but he can’t. “Leave it. There’s nothing we can do.”

Anakin raises his hackles, ready to argue; then looks away, takes a deep breath. “You’re right,” he says. “There’s nothing. They’re watching us. They all are.” He sounds distant, worn down by defeat, and Obi-Wan desperately wants to do something, anything, to reassure him.

Obi-Wan brushes his knuckles against Anakin’s arm, barely, careful of the stares of other Jedi in the dock. “Anakin, I —”

But Anakin is already pulling away, moving towards his own transport. “May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan.”

The words die on his tongue, stunned into silence as Anakin walks up the ramp of his own transport. He watches as he departs, a solitary, lonesome figure, and then he is left there, alone.

_Anakin, I love you._

* * *

The war drags on; they march forward endlessly, blood and tears and death. The galaxy continues on its unstoppable trajectory towards self-annihilation; time loses all its meaning. There is no victory, no loss, only the futile struggle to survive the next moment, the next day.

He is alone.

It is easy to be angry. To drown the sorrow with wrath, the pulse of violence. It grows, the world is ash. It is the taste of metal at the back of his mouth, new scars that litter his torso. It is the blazing fire of nightly pyres, the stench of motor-oil so thick it permeates his inner robes. He raises his lightsaber and slashes through droids, careless of blaster bolts that scorch his robes, his skin. He is angry at the enemy— _taking so much away from him, killing and killing and—_ he channels his wrath into battle, emerges bruised and bloody, but he couldn’t care less.

Cracked-open, raw, Obi-Wan’s heart beats.

It aches.

The council is determined to keep them apart, stubborn and prideful—they only see each other in GAR-sanctioned holocalls and even then, they do not speak to each other, the silence pointed, weighted, a burden. It is easy to be angry, to feel the beginnings of resentment seep into his thoughts, to be made an example, a fool— _who do the council think they are to strip him of rank—_ but it curls inwards, grows gnawing teeth and talons, rips him to shreds. _You were never worthy,_ it hisses. _Pathetic. Undeserving._

The tears burn at the back of his eyelids, but he doesn’t cry.

The council grows more demanding, every loss, every mistake another proof of his incompetence. He has never been more aware of the gazes directed at him, his back, the churn of the gossip mills and tabloids. _Look at him,_ they say, dripping with pity, _Look at the Jedi General and his lost love._ He grits his teeth and ignores the cloying oil-slick of false compassion, avarice hiding behind the facades of kindly men.

He wishes to scream, but be doesn’t.

His men, faithful and loyal, do not speak about it; nor do they avert their gazes when he meets their eyes.

For that, he is grateful.

The burn of his fury sparks, blazes, dies. The remnants of love reduced to fading embers, stained with soot. The twist of Anakin’s smile is now bitter, the vague impression of Qui-Gon’s gentle hands a distant, faded memory. His memories are tinged with the grey-blue hue of sorrow, the rosy tint washed-out by the lapping tide of despair. It is not grief, not quite, but it feels like it almost is.

It hurts to smile and wave at the masses, to trudge on through the mud to reach the other side. It hurts to pretend that he’s trying to keep up with the council’s mounting demands, hurts to push through the longing and grief. The lines in the corner of his eyes grow deeper, the spark in them long gone. When he looks in the mirror, a stranger stares back.

The flaring pain in his chest dulls, slowly. It doesn’t go away.

They fight hard, even harder than before. Obi-Wan flings himself at enemy lines, decks clankers in sheer rage. He is angry, still angry, but it fades into the burnt-out edge of sorrow, the ringing silence left after slaughter. The bitter edge to scorched sugar, they meet in his dreams only to fall apart, again and again— the closer they get, the farther he is from Anakin. 

In the middle of bombed-out ruins, far from the holocameras, he screams. 

* * *

It occurs to him, in the dead of night, long after the pyres have burned to ash and he’s nursing his third bottle of terrible contraband liquor, that Anakin is staying _for him,_ and for him _only._

He nearly chokes on his next swig.

There is a choice for him to make; regardless of what he does, Anakin already has made his own. 

It is impossible for them to be kept ignorant of each other, no matter the council’s wishes. News creeps down the grapevine, passed on by dedicated brothers, in secrecy, intent on delivering what the GAR regs won’t let them out of sheer stubbornness.

His men, always loyal to a fault, after all. 

_General Skywalker’s gone off it_ , they whisper in between bouts of artillery fire. _The 501 st thinks he’s lost it. _ They tell of daring exploits, a disregard of his own wellbeing. _Rex says he’s kriffing suicidal,_ a quivering Cody says, nearly drowned out by the rain. _He’s scaring them, with what he gets up to. He needs to be pulled out of the ‘field._

Obi-Wan downs the rest of the bottle. Opens another.

The engines of the Vigilance are a low, constant hum around him, a soft contrast to the buzzing in his ears. He is far, far away, speeding towards another battle, another bloody campaign. He downs half the bottle in one go, sets it on the floor. The walls are swimming before his eyes but he honestly can’t be bothered to care.

“Kark it,” he says to the empty room. His armour is suffocating. He fumbles with the clasps, nudging his armour away with a foot once he’s finally managed to get them off. “Fuck. I miss him so much.”

He turns over, takes another swig.

 _There are holos of the general,_ Cody had said. _Do you want to see them_? _They’re from Kix. The general’s hanging on, but barely._

He hadn’t been able to stomach it. Hadn’t been able to fathom losing him, just as he did Qui-Gon. He is sick to the gills just thinking about it, but there simply is nothing he can do.

The alcohol burns on it’s way down his throat, and he relishes it, in a terrible, self-loathing sort of way. He can’t tell if he’s drinking to remember or to forget at this point, but he supposes that doesn’t really matter when if drowns out the insistent chatter of his thoughts.

Anakin had stayed for him. Is putting himself at immense risk because of him.

He is the reason for Anakin’s sorrow.

It is an epiphany.

* * *

He is untethered, unmoored. Unanchored, floating in the dark. Cast into the ocean, submerged in its depths. Tired, lonely, heartsick.

To sever the tie is to live. But what about after?

A ship without an anchor, drifting endlessly on the waves. The shore is distant, unreachable; he reaches across star systems and hyperspace lanes— Anakin never responds. The bond is silent, shuttered, a dead weight at the back of his mind.

He drifts.

The Force curls around him, a silent, hulking entity. It leads him along the sprawling rocks and crashing waves, bare feet careful on the slippery stretch. _Child,_ it seems to say, omnipotent, all-knowing. _You are destined for greater things._

Obi-Wan pauses, perches on a flat piece of stone. _I am not,_ he says, as the waves rush against the rocks. His cupped hands are full of shells. _I am only regret._ They collect like barnacles on the hull of a ship, each one a new weight. There are enough of them to be a burden, a drag.

The Force hums, wraps him in its embrace. _So tell me, what is it that you regret._

He stands, lets the shells fall from his hands, scatter on the rocks. _I don’t know,_ he says, _there is far too much._

Seafoam bubbles through crevices, the spray stinging-cold against his skin. The Force buzzes with intensity, waiting patiently. Moonlight paints the bay in a pale glow, glinting silver and ivory. The rocks stretch for miles, desolate, his feet scrabble for purchase on the wet surface.

He is alone.

_I miss him,_ he says. _I loved him. Love him._

 _So tell me, little one,_ the Force breathes, blowing salt into his hair. _Who is it that you long for as such?_

He raises his head, looks to the sky, the moon and the Force his only witnesses. _The both of them,_ he says, voice cracking under the weight of words. _I miss the both of them._

The Force hums, a soundless tune. _Those who are gone cannot return, little one._

Obi-Wan sniffles, wraps his arms around his torso. _There is still Anakin,_ he says, _I long for him like no other._

Waves crash against the rocks, the cliffs.

 _I love him,_ Obi-Wan says, again and again. Tears stream down his face, mixing with salt from the spray. _I love him I love him I Iove him._ There is something that tugs at his heart, loosening it’s ties. _I am his sorrow, as how he is mine._

The Force is silent, still.

He wipes at his face with a sleeve, feeling all too much like a snivelling youngling after a stern lecture. _You don’t listen anyway,_ he says. _Nobody wants to listen to tragedy._

The Force ripples, realigns. _I am here,_ it seems to say. It nudges him, here and there, guiding his path along the rocks. _Tell me, child, why do you miss him so?_

Obi-Wan stalls, slowly picks out a path, sets off on it. _He is everything,_ he whispers, _he is everything and more._ His teeth chatter as winds begin to blow, currents begin to stir. The waves rise and fall, constant, unending in succession. _I live for him. I’d die for him._ He steps over a gaping chasm, a glimpse of roaring waves below. _To lose him, after Qui-Gon, is too much._

The bay is bleak, and he rubs blurriness out of his eyes. _There is nothing worse than knowing how it ends._

The winds pick up, ruffling his hair, blowing away the clouds. The moon is incandescent, bright and full. Stars sparkle overhead, lighting up the sky. The bay is alive, singing. He feels the Force as it churns; it is readying for _something_.

He reaches to touch a stray crest; seawater splashes against the rocks. The ties around his heart undo completely, the door swings wide open. _I have many regrets,_ he thinks, _but my one regret— it is that I never got to tell him that I love him._

The Force stands absolutely still for the slightest of moments, before it breaks into motion. It moves, swiftly, tugs at his sleeves. _Come, child. We must go._ He follows, a winding path through the rocks, pools of water shimmering in the moonlight. 

_You love him,_ it murmurs.

 _Yes,_ he says.

The calm of night ebbs into the quiet furore of dawn, the anticipation of a new beginning. _I’d promise anything for him. I’d promise anything for love._

 _Oh, child,_ the Force croons, ever-loving. _You won’t need to promise me anything._ His feet lead him from jagged rocks to the soft sand of the shore, waves lapping at his feet. _There is only love, young one. Only love. You only ever have to remember that._

His footsteps trace pathways on the sandy shore, grains of sand stuck to his ankles, his feet.

 _Look, child,_ the Force says. _Look._

He looks.

On the horizon, the sky blooms in colour, cold and radiant.

_It is sunrise— awaken, little one._

* * *

Obi-Wan wakes with a jolt. His face is mushed to the floor, robes in disarray. The lights flicker on and off, in a disorienting sequence.

He hisses as the pounding headache makes itself known. He probably shouldn’t have drunk that much last night. His mouth smells like dead womprat, and Force knows he probably looks like onr too.

The ship seems to shudder beneath his feet, before he realises that he’s swaying, unsteady. He grabs at the wall, slowly lowers himself back to the floor, calculates the most efficient way to make it to the fresher.

The door bursts open, and a very harried Cody pokes his head in, brows scrunched in worry. “General, are you alright?”

Obi-Wan waves him away, attempts to get off the floor. “I’m fine, Cody.” After the third try, he succeeds. “What’s going on?”

Cody looks at him, suspiciously, regards the empty bottles stashed beneath his bunk. “You aren’t, sir, with all due respect.”

“I _am,_ ”

“No you aren’t,” Cody says, already reaching to pull him up. “Everything within a klik’s length away from your room’s floating. I figured that if you’re losing your grip on that _Jetiise_ magic something must’ve gone wrong.”

Obi-Wan sighs, releases his tenuous grip on the Force. Immediately, the lights stop flickering.

“Cody, I’m fine. It’s just a vision, or something, I don’t know.”

Exasperation colours Cody’s gaze as he hauls Obi-Wan to the fresher’. “The day you’re _fine_ is the day banthas learn to fly, General.” He lets Obi-Wan grumble, pointedly ignores his protests. “You need some assistance, in this state.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, huffs. “I do not need assistance of any sort, commander.”

Cody slides his arm off his shoulder, lets him fall to the ground with a thud. “Are you sure, sir?”

Obi-Wan groans, annoyed. “You bastard,” he says. “I take that back. Could you _please_ give me a hand here, Cody?”

Cody grins, all teeth. “Sure, sir. I am glad to assist.”

The walk to the fresher is slow and arduous, considering the relatively short distance, Obi-Wan thinks, sourly. Cody hefts him, step by step, then lets Obi-Wan lean on him while he uses the sink, rummaging in the attached cabinets for towels and spare robes.

“There aren’t any robes here, sir,” Cody says, frowning. “You’ll be alright if I pop on down to the supplies hub?”

“Go ahead,” he says. He braces himself against the sink as Cody extricates himself from the fresher, then closes the door. His head is spinning, and he staggers into the shower, clumsily throwing his filthy robes into the hamper.

The hot water is a welcome relief. Obi-Wan stands under the spray, welcomes the feeling of a hot shower. He’s probably using up his allotment for the week, but he can’t help but savour the moment, just briefly.

When he finally emerges, there’s a set of fresh robes on his bunk.

He settles at his desk, reading through an endless stack of reports, fires off his own to the council. The force is oddly calm, he notes, still like the air after a storm.

Maybe it will all turn out to be alright, after all.


	7. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _after  
>  /ˈɑːftə/  
> at a later or future time; afterwards._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: major character injury

Now, it ends like this.

The council bends their stubborn, rigid, wills, only with the certainty of defeat.

They send him to aid the 501st who plod faithfully along their beaten general, their campaign doomed to failure, already too many lost to the crushing fist of death. It takes Anakin, reduced to begging, pleading for his men’s lives—for those that still live, for the council to be willing to send the closest battalion—Obi-Wan’s—to help.

He doesn’t miss the hint of displeasure on their faces even through the jarred images from the holoprojector, the grim twist to Windu’s mouth. _This is a test,_ he thinks, scowling at the maps spread out on his desk.

The 212th will do their best to relieve Anakin and his men, while the 187th will arrive later to continue the mop-up. Obi-Wan is hardly looking forward to working with a council member after _everything_ , but he simply has no say in the matter.

Especially now that Anakin’s also part of it.

Obi-Wan fastens his pauldrons and vambraces, lightsaber clipped to his belt. The wail of claxons sound through the ship, men dashing to their stations. The engines of fighter crafts screech wrathfully ahead, the battle raging in the void of space.

“Brace yourselves, we’re about to hit atmo,” Cody says, ready for the plunge.

Obi-Wan salutes him, sloppily. The ship jerks and shudders, the men brace themselves against walls and crates, before the ship breaks free of the atmosphere, cruising towards the surface.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan says. “Here we go.”

The ship descends, slowly. The firefight gets closer, and Obi-Wan can feel reluctant anticipation curl through his gut. It has been so long since he had last seen Anakin; it is irony that they truly will only meet to part again. Obi-Wan reaches across the battered landscape, tugs on the bond.

Anakin nudges back.

The ramp is lowered, and they jump right out onto the battlefield. Shots ring in Obi-Wan ears, there is blood already streaked across the dark sand. He brandishes his lightsaber, drawing the Seperatist's attention away from the men.

“Let’s go!” Obi-Wan yells through his comm. “We’ve got three patrols ahead of us. We’ll need to get through them to get to the 501st .”

“Sir, yes, sir!” they chorus.

Obi-Wan world narrows to the frenzy of battle, the fizz of blaster bolts against his ‘saber. Dark, reddish sand seeps through the crevices of his armour, the pristine white streaked with blaster burns and sweat. Anakin had always disliked sand. Distantly, Obi-Wan wonders how he’s coping with all this…sand, though his attention is redirected as a squadron of droidekas roll onto the battlefield and begin firing at him.

He fights his way through the squadron, gritting his teeth, whirling his saber in smaller, efficient arcs, compensating for the long battle ahead. He’s already beginning to tire out, with the intensity of it all, but he daren’t pause, knowing that ahead, Anakin is waiting for him, desperately. 

The sun is blazing hot at their backs, beating down on red plains. Obi-Wan’s limbs are sore with exhaustion, his hair wet with sweat, fringe flopping on his forehead. He can hear the cries of his men as they take down the last of the droids, the stench of charred metal and burning oil in the air.

“The 187th legion have touched down, General,” Cody says, gesturing for the troopers to carry on forward. “They’ll rendezvous with units six, seven and eight, then clear the way for the AT-TE’s.”

Obi-Wan dabs at his forehead with a sleeve, swipes at his nose with the other. “What’s the current status update?”

“We’re gaining ground, sir, “ Cody says, “Minimum casualties. We’ll be able to secure enough ground to begin evac if we take the next five-hundred metres, sir.”

Obi-Wan shields his eyes from the sun with a hand, scrutinizes the rocky outcropping that juts out of the ground.

“Have the scouts sent back any intel?’

“We’ve got just the usual fare, sir.’

“Well,” Obi-Wan says, igniting his lightsaber. “We’ll settle it the usual way as well, then.”

* * *

After, when they’ve decimated the last of the enemy, Obi-Wan finds Anakin, crouched in a hidey-hole amongst the rocks, with the last of his men.

Rex props him up, careful of his leg, bent at an awkward angle. Obi-Wan reaches to cradle him in his arms, tucking him against his chest, letting him feel the steady thump of his heart.

“Anakin, can you hear me?” he asks.

Anakin’s eyes are hazy, blurry, blue eyes glazed over with pain. He latches onto Obi-Wan, mouthing words that he cannot hear.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan says, gently settling him on a med unit. “It’ll be over soon. It’s alright.”

Anakin grips at Obi-Wan’s robes, refusing to let go. Though Obi-Wan can feel the dim clouds of drowsiness that hover around his Force Signature, Anakin fights against it, a monumental struggle to stay awake. Obi-Wan does his best to offer him comfort as the med station begins the lengthy, tedious process of putting his leg back together. Anakin winces, in agony, even after Wooley shoots a line of painkillers though his forearm.

This isn’t how Obi-Wan imagined their reunion, not the secret, guilty dreams he keeps hidden in his heart. Anakin is bleeding out, body beaten and broken, rendered speechless by pain. Yet, for all that it’s worth, it is far better than the futures he had thought would be theirs—an eternity apart, living each other’s regrets. The throb of Anakin’s pulse against his is euphoria, every second a blessing.

 _You are here?_ Anakin pushes through the bond. _You are here._

 _Yes,_ Obi-Wan sends back _. I am, dear one._

 _Miss you,_ Anakin sends, the bond throbbing with liquid gold. _Missed you so much._

“Hush,” Obi-Wan says, “You have me, now.”

Obi-Wan drops to his knees by the med unit, murmurs soft nothings against Anakin’s temples, soothes him with kisses to his cheeks. Anakin raises a hand, touches Obi-Wan’s lips with trembling fingers, trying his best to speak. Obi-Wan takes Anakin’s hand in his, presses their foreheads together, binding the both of them together, letting his presence ground Anakin’s.

The words worm their way out of his chest, out of his lips. “I love you,” he whispers, Anakin’s shallow breaths ghosting against his cheekbones. “I love you so, so much.”

_I love you I love you I love you—_

When he pulls away, Anakin’s mumbling something incoherent, eyes glistening with unshed tears, fingers entwined in Obi-Wan’s robes. Obi-Wan presses one last kiss to his cheek, watching as Anakin reaches up, one last time, to caress his cheek, then fall into unconsciousness, oblivion.

Behind them, the survivors are loaded onto the transport, one by one. “We’ll be taking them back to Coruscant, sir,” Wooley said, ushering the last of the 501st onto the transport. “We’ll update you if anything happens.”

Obi-Wan nods, stands back as Anakin is wheeled onto the transport and the ship gets ready to take off. He wishes to be by Anakin’s side when he inevitably wakes up, alone in the med bay, but he can’t, not with so much at stake.

He turns, faces his men.

”Let’s regroup with the 187th ,” he says. “We’ll figure out how to deal with the Seperatists after this.”

* * *

The setting sun casts shadows over the red sands, jagged rocks forming odd shadows on the uneven ground. Obi-Wan stands alone, at the edge of the camp, staring out into the distance.

“Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan turns around so quickly he nearly falls over.

Mace Windu stands on the rocks, slumping slightly. His silhouette is shrouded in darkness, illuminated by the occasional flare from the distant battlefield.

“Master Windu,” Obi-Wan says, icily.

To his surprise, Mace bows, deep and full, taking off his cloak then folding it into a square.

“There is no use for titles here, Obi-Wan,” he says, placing the square on the ground, then settling on it, legs crossed. “We are just the Republic’s servants, are we not?”

Obi-Wan considers the question, mulling it over. Turns over every facet of it in his head, before settling on an answer.

“If we are as such, isn’t that forsaking our duty to the Force, as Jedi?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

Mace laughs, a hollow, weary sound. “You indeed are the silver-tongued negotiator,” he says, exhaustion flitting over his features. “The war has changed us beyond repair.”

The night is silent, every rustle carrying over the plains. Obi-Wan shifts, uneasily, from one foot to another, drawing lines in the sand.

“If it is as such, then how could you, as Master of the Order, do nothing about it?”

“Because I can’t,” Mace says, slumping even further. “The Jedi have been under the Senate’s control for years. The council fears it more than the Sith, at this point.”

Obi-Wan kicks a small stone, watches it zip across the plains, stirring the sand into motion. He lets the silence grow heavy, lets it fill with the weight of words unspoken. Waits for it to burst, spill.

“The Force screams, every single moment, Obi-Wan.” Mace whispers, barely above the sound of rustling breeze. “We are walking a path to the Dark.”

Far away, something explodes, a burst of orange flames. “There goes their shields,” Mace mumbles. “Maybe we’ll be able to make some progress against their defences tomorrow.”

Obi-Wan bites the inside of his cheek, tastes the bitterness that floods his mouth. The sparks from the explosion drift in the wind, glowing in the dark of night.

“Yet, here we are, talking about war,” Obi-Wan says, clipped and pointed. “Seems rather hypocritical, is it not?”

Mace sighs, bone-tired. “You are right.” Overhead, a squadron of fighters fly past, their engines whirring. “The Order has lost its path.”

The plain settles into silence, puffs of smoke trailing in the air. Obi-Wan crouches on the ground, having had enough of standing.

“I never agreed with them, about you.” Mace says, quietly. “About the decision.”

Obi-Wan shakily slides to the ground, bracing his weight with an arm, then brings his legs under his torso. “Then why didn’t you oppose to it, councillor?”

Mace shakes his head, shame colouring the Force before it is swiftly returned to its shaky equilibrium. “I did,” he says, jaded. “I was outvoted, as usual, in favour of the decision that would better suit their agenda.”

He exhales, continues. “Skywalker made you happy, and I’d seen you suffer for years.” He looks at Obi-Wan, warmth colouring his gaze. “I’d wanted the best for the both you.” He sighs, again.

Obi-Wan is struck dumb, his surprise colouring the Force. He feels as though the galaxy’s been pulled from right beneath his feet, the universe realigned.

“I—”

Mace stands up, dusts off his outer robe. “I am sorry, Obi-Wan.” He pulls it on, tugs it straight.

In the distance, another explosion rockets through the desert, followed by cheers. Instantaneously, their commlinks chime, calling them back to battle.

“Well, duty calls,” Mace says, shrewdly. “It has been a pleasure.”

The plain jolts with the force of explosions once more.

"May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan."


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _segalanya terserah kepada takdir_  
>  let it all be left to destiny

Now, perhaps, this is where it truly begins.

Sunlight dapples the pathway that winds through the gardens, framed in bursts of colour, flowers abloom in Alderaniaan springtime. Petals are strewn on the ground, leaves stirred by the mild spring breeze. The grounds are awash in birdsong and the tinkling of bell-flowers that adorn trellises.

The garden is empty, save for the bold few birds who swoop down to peck at the crumbs Obi-Wan offers.

It is peaceful.

Almost overwhelmingly so, after the years of struggle. They have to remind themselves that this quiet peace is normal, now.

Obi-Wan fidgets with the lapels of his jacket, slowing his steps, reminding himself that there’s no hurry. He waits, patiently, for Anakin to keep up, walking stick tapping against the cobblestones.

Anakin rounds the corner, a tooka cat wrapped around his shoulders. Behind him, a litter of tooka kittens follow, trailing after him, bumping against his ankles.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow, amused. “Found some new friends already?” he says, reaching out to lift the tooka off Anakin, settling it on the ground.

“Oh, they’re old friends,” Anakin says, plopping on the bench, grasping his walking-stick. Its weathered marble legs are wrapped in ivy, a striking contrast against the grey surface. “They’re the same colony from the kitchens. I think they came for some fresh air, you know.”

Obi-Wan gently guides the kittens to their mother, herding them off the pathway. “Well, there they go,” he says, as they ambled through the garden. “Let’s hope they don’t get too lost.”

“They won’t.” Anakin says, lifting a stray kitten by the scruff of it’s neck and setting it by the bench, letting it find its way back to the pack. “They’ll be back for dinner. You just wait and see.”

Having sent the last of the tookas on their way, Obi-Wan slides onto the bench, careful of Anakin’s bad leg. “How is it, today?” he asks, tucking stray blonde curls back into place.

Anakin scrunches his brow, leans his walking-stick against the bench. “Not any better.” He wriggles against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, nuzzling against his chest. “The doctors are suggesting I get an implant, as a last resort.”

Obi-Wan lets him brood, wrapping an arm around his torso, drawing him in closer. The afternoons in Alderaan are cool, in spring, and he knows that the cold is no help to Anakin’s dull mood.

Anakin shifts slightly, puts more of his weight on Obi-Wan. “It would save me the pain, and all— this,” he says, gesturing to his bad leg. “But,”

Obi-Wan quirks an eyebrow, questioning. “But?”

“It’d take a longer time for me to recuperate,” Anakin says, pouting. “You know how I am. Zero patience, and so on."

Obi-Wan ponders for a moment, letting Anakin curl around him. “You know that I’d be here with you, no matter how long it will take, don’t you?”

A pair of doves land by the birdbath, cooing. Anakin eases up, props his chin on his elbow. “I do,” he says, casually. “We'll talk it out, next session.”

Obi-Wan hums, stroking Anakin’s back. He basks in the tranquility, listening to the rustle of leaves. A stray rose-bud sticks out from a nearby bush, a striking red. He plucks it, with careful fingers, grinds the thorns away against the edge of the seat. He pokes Anakin’s back, waiting for him to turn.

Anakin turns as Obi-Wan taps at his cheek, tucking the rose behind his ear.

“My dashing knight,” he says, pressing a kiss to Anakin’s temple. “What am I to do without you?”

“You sap,” Anakin says, laughing. Obi-Wan can feel his delight in the Force as it brightens the garden, teeming with life. “You wouldn’t be able to resist my charms, no matter how hard you tried.”

‘Indeed.” Obi-Wan says, as Anakin presses a kiss to his cheek, butterfly-light.

The doves stir up a flurry in the bath, shaking their feathers. Winds rouse the bell-flowers, the garden once again alight with quiet tinkling.

“I hadn’t even noticed that they’d stopped ringing for a moment there,” Anakin remarks, turning to properly face Obi-Wan. “Do you ever feel like everything’s washed-out sometimes? When it’s all pale and quiet,” he says, voice hushed, fitting his fingers between Obi-Wan’s. “Just for a moment, then it’s over.”

Obi-Wan unlinks their fingers, one by one. “Yes, sometimes,” he says, he hugs Anakin, tightly, relishes in the press of their bodies together. He pulls away, looks Anakin in the eye.

“I remember, when it happens, that there never is a lack of colour, when you are here, with me,” he says, holding Anakin’s hand against his chest, against his heart. “When you are here with me, it’s bursting at the seams.”

Anakin wavers, projecting surprise and tenderness. “Force, Obi-Wan,” he says, close to tears. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, dear one,” Obi-Wan says, “I love you.”

They spend long moments entwined, savoring the calm of the gardens, the quiet placidity. The sun’s slanting rays cast Anakin’s hair alight, bring out the blue of his eyes.

“Admiring me already?” Anakin says, teasing.

Obi-Wan presses his lips to the curl of Anakin’s mouth, silences him with a kiss.

“Mmph!” Anakin claws at Obi-Wan’s jacket, slides hands into his hair, tugging lightly.

Obi-Wan pulls away, after a moment. Anakin’s kiss-drunk and pliant, grinning like there’s no tommorow.

“Your hair’s a mess again,” Obi-Wan sighs, fussing over Anakin’s unruly mop of hair. “And your jacket’s all askew.”

Anakin tugs it back into place, smoothing it down. “We’re all dolled up for tonight,” he says, while Obi-Wan attempts to smooth out the creases on his jacket. “You’ve even got that new coat on.”

“We’ve got to look presentable in front of the queen, Anakin.”

“The blue _does_ looks good on you,” Anakin says, off-handedly, distracted by the feel of Obi-Wan hands on him. “Got any idea what tonight’s dinner is for?”

“Hmm,” Obi-Wan says, thinking about the silver ring in his right pocket. “I’ve got a good idea what it’s for.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that cheered me on and my incredible betas for working with my ridiculous timezone and schedule. Ripki's my love laid bare for all to see was _the_ fic that got me into obikin, and it is the very fic that inspired me to start writing in the first place. I will be taking a short break from fanworks for awhile to catch up with irl stuff but I thank everyone for their support. Thanks fam!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for NaNoWriMo 2020 with my goal of 18k. Very inspired by Ripki's fic so if there are any overlaps it's because at this point I have read it until every single word is embedded in my soul. Betaed by [Anna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karkedup/pseuds/karkedup) and Barb.  
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